


Snowflakes

by Deastrumquodvicis



Series: No Longer One of the Angels [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Demonlock, Drabble, Gen, Winglock, demon Irene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:25:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deastrumquodvicis/pseuds/Deastrumquodvicis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The demon Irene Adler looks out at a Christmas Eve night, looking at snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowflakes

Demons don't come from what mortals consider Downstairs.  It was a common misconception.  Oh, yes, Hell existed, but it was just another dimension, just like Heaven.  And it wasn't all fire and brimstone, either, it was more like a party that had gone on for far too long, and by the time you get there, everyone's just too polite or too inebriated to leave.

A few did, of course, walking about on Planet Earth, never knowing who the angels were--God's idea to keep fighting to a minimum between Her offspring--making their way in the world, misbehaving, and there were few who were better at it than Irene Adler.

With a lick of the lips and a mischievous smile, she clicked  _save_.  Yet another bite of information added to her collection.  What Sherlock Holmes was to Upstairs (or had been, prior to his clipping), Irene Adler was to Below.  Impatient.  Arrogant.  Independent.  Fiercely intelligent.  Resentful of the rules she was meant to play by.  But Below worked a bit differently, and rather than being punished for her nature, she was allowed free reign and given a position of authority.  Which she used to its full potential.

"It's snowing again."  There was no one in the room but the Woman, but she enjoyed saying such things aloud.  She'd always liked snow, ever since she'd been a child.  Even though it had killed her, she still loved the way it fell so gently, so tenderly, so...fragile.  Like governments.  Like lives.  Like people.  She put her hand to the window and felt the cold seep into her body.  It was beautiful.  "Merry Christmas, Mr. Holmes," she smiled, remembering the night she had perhaps sealed her fate with him.  The night she'd sent him her phone, coming on four years ago now.  Funny how time flew.  But after fifty some-odd years, four was nothing.  Irene smiled again.  "I'll be seeing you again, very soon."  She stretched her arms and wings, the morning not yet coming, and continued to contemplate snowflakes.


End file.
